Unforeseen Circumstances
by ThatPersonHidingInTheCorner
Summary: DEATH CURE SPOILERS Thomas hadn't wanted anyone to know what he had done to Newt, but then something that he never would've expected happened, and his secret is revealed. Takes place after The Death Cure.


Thomas breathed in deeply. The air was fresh in a way he hadn't known in a long time. He actually still didn't remember. It was just a familiar pleasant feeling breathing the clean air unmarked by Flare. He turned to face the rest of the group. This was their happy ending, the happiest one they were going to get.

At least some of them would get it. He shook off the thought. At least some of them had made it. It's better than no one.

As he looked down the small hill he was standing on, he saw a sight like the Glade. It was very similar to the Glade here. Same rules, everyone working together to survive. Teresa would've loved it. Alby too. Chuck, Jack. Maybe even Newt, no matter what he had said with the flare in his head. Thomas was filled with sadness at the thought, but he knew better than to cry. They were gone, no use in spending time to mourn them. Besides, he has done his fair share of crying in the first day, everyone had. Everybody here had losses, and just because he had been with WICKED didn't mean that his were more important than other's. They needed everyone to work or this system would never support lives.

Thomas turned back around to determine where they should start. He was facing a forest now, and they needed wood to build. He was supposed to be deciding where to send everyone to start, then head back and gather a group of strong arms to begin.

He was so distracted by his thoughts and by trying to get his mind to focus on the task ahead that he didn't hear the rustling of grass until a hand was on his arm, trying to grab his attention. That wouldn't have been that much of a surprise, as it could've been Brenda or one of the guys asking what was taking so long, except for the fact that the hand in question was much too pale to be Brenda, and much too small to be a man (or even teenage boy). Someone he didn't know.

He looked up sharply at the girl holding his arm. She was very tall for a girl. About as tall as Thomas himself. But also incredibly thin, as if she had been a normal sized girl stretched out until she looked like she was starving. The way she held herself could be described as gangly, very awkwardly, as if she were conserving herself. Although Thomas couldn't clearly recall her face as one he knew, he did recognize her shaggy blonde hair from around the camp, looking like a long lion mane in the sun.

She looked as if she was expecting something, no, not expecting. She wouldn't be this wide eyed and slightly scared if she was anticipating it. She was hoping for something.

"You're Thomas, right? Thomas of the Gladers?" She said in a soft, British-lilted voice that was still strangely somehow louder than what he expected from her. Her voice was high and musical, as if she were singing every word.

Thomas nodded hesitantly, feeling somewhat guilty for an unknown reason.

Her large eyes lit up immediately, filling with a scarily amount of child-like excitement. "Then you must know my brother! I haven' been able to find him here. He's supposed to be immune, so they would've sent him here. And before you say it, he survived the maze and scorch trials, so I _know_ that he's still alive! His name is Tristan..."

Thomas knew that there was no Glader called Tristan, but they all lost their names in the swipe. It could be anyone. Thomas got continuously more and more uncomfortable as her brown eyes bore into him, her hand never leaving his arm. He thought- he searched his mind- he really did. He couldn't think of any Glader, dead or alive, that matched her appearance in any way. He was about to express his sorrow and reply in this way when it hit him.

A literal emotional blow. He couldn't breath.

 _No._

 _No, that's impossible._

 _But here was the proof._

 _No! It couldn't be..._

 _They have the same face. How did I not see it at the first glimpse?_

 _NO!_

 _It's like somebody just copied the face from one of them and just pasted it onto a different body._

 _NO! IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!_

 _It is..._

 _It couldn't be real..._

 _Newt didn't have a sister..._

"I'm sorry," Thomas finally choked out. "I knew your brother..." He drifted off; not wanting to confirm what was so obvious in the building tension.

The girl stepped back, horror obvious in her facial expression. Her hand fell to her side, not so full of hope anymore. "Whad'ya mean _knew_!?" She said much louder.

Thomas swallowed heavily. This wasn't supposed to be brought up. This was supposed to be in his past. Newt was supposed to be gone. No one was supposed to know unless they were there. "He's dead."

He said it bluntly, not wanted to be stuck in the tension any longer. If he had thought that saying this would solve that problem, he was wrong.

The girl once again stepped back in shock. "No..."

Thomas just looked at the ground, trying not to acknowledge that fact that he was at fault for her grief. Because he wasn't. WICKED was. The sun flares were. The scientists who developed the Flare were. He couldn't blame just himself for this.

Her nearly blank face was quickly replaced by a frightening amount of determination. "How'd he die?"

Thomas' eyes widened. He hadn't expected such a harsh question to come in the package of notes of her speaking pattern or in the shape of her unsurety.

"How'd he die!? Tell me!" Her hand was back on his arm, but not to reassure herself.

He couldn't bear telling her that Newt hadn't been immune to the Flare. She had been so sure when saying he was immune. The pain when learning that someone you loved went insane- no. He couldn't put her through it. He just wanted to questions to end. "He was shot. In the head."

She blinked once before forming another question demanding to be answered. "Who. Who did it?"

Thomas choked up, "I- I don't know."

He was thoroughly scared of the look that overcame her face after this. "Don't. Don't ya' lie to me. Ya' say it so surely, with so much confidence that he's dead. Ya' _must've_ seen it."

Thomas, too intimidated to tell the truth at this point just stood there looking at the ground, not even sure how to fake it any longer.

"You. Ya' killed him." No matter how much pain shone on her face, her voice never lost its musical ring.

As she turned away and began to walk, Thomas desperately wanted to chase after her, explain himself.

He was so caught up in the decision of to stop her or let her go that he didn't notice Minho on his way to see what was taking so long.

Thomas reached forward almost mindlessly. "Wait, please."

She spun around, her pale locks flying everywhere. There was no sympathy in her eyes, Thomas saw. No sadness, not tear, just hate. Pure hatred of him and everything. "Leave me alone!" The choral tones of her voice lost in screams that let everyone around of how much she was hurting. "Ya' killed him! My brother!" And she flung herself toward him.

She caught him by surprise and he toppled over. As they hit the ground, the breath was knocked out of him. Before he could reach up to block his face, her punches were there. Were everywhere. She was repeatedly slamming her fists against any piece of Thomas she could find. "This is yer fault! He's dead!" Thomas managed to catch one of her fists in his hand, but she just beat his shoulder until he couldn't hold on any longer and she could resume hitting his face.

Other people were noticing and running up the hill, but Minho was already there.

Minho pulled her by the crook of her right elbow off of Thomas.

"Let me go! He deserves it!" She jerked her elbow back into Minho's throat so he gasped for breath and she could beat Thomas some more. A sharp snap was heard as her fist landed on his nose.

More people gathered around when Frypan stepped in to help Minho pull the girl off of Thomas.

"No! It's his fault! He killed my brother!" She kicked and flailed uselessly. Thomas sat up with his head tilted down. He wished his hair was longer so it could cover his face. All he felt was pain.

The girl finally fell limp in the two teenage boys' grips. Her voice was soft again. Musical again. "Thomas killed him. He's dead. My brother's dead." Her voice broke and she looked up pleadingly at Minho. It was the first time anyone saw the multitude of tears streaming down her face. Her soft brown eyes were puffy and red. Even with her face distorted from crying, Minho still recognized the features in far shorter time than Thomas had.

"Newt?" Minho asked quietly. He wasn't looking at the girl any longer, had in fact completely dropped her into Frypan's grip.

Thomas couldn't do anything but continue hunching his back and avoiding eye-contact, but a quick glance at Minho revealed the truth.

"Newt's sister?" Minho sounded sick.

Thomas looked up. One of his eyes was swelling already, and you could see where the skin was tender from the blows. Knowing that there was no way out of this, he nodded.

"She-" Minho took a strangled swallow. "She said- She said that you killed her brother."

Thomas' eyes sunk back to the ground.

"Newt… you killed Newt? When were you planning on telling me?" Anger was gathering with every word.

Thomas knew that he was not getting away without an explanation. "He was- He was almost gone. He begged me. I- I couldn't just leave him to deal with losing his mind. Please- Minho- you have to understa-"

"Oh, I understand _that_ completely. I would've done the same in your place. What I need you to explain is why you kept it from me. I was just as much Newt's best friend as you were. More, even. We were in the glade for _2 years_ together Thomas. I had a right to know that this happened! Were you even planning on telling me!?"

Minho glared at Thomas, waiting for an answer. The only reply he got was a slight shake of the head.

"I can't believe you." Minho spat. He walked away, his steps no heavier than when he had come at first, as if trying to prove to Thomas that he didn't matter to Minho anymore.

The rest of the crowd dissipated along Minho. A few lagged behind, like Frypan and Brenda. Frypan had passed off the sobbing girl to Brenda, who was now awkwardly patting her back and whispering soothing words.

Frypan just looked at Thomas and shook his head. In that small movement, Thomas was told that Frypan wasn't anymore likely to forgive him than Minho was. Frypan walked down the hill, all but Brenda and the girl following.

Brenda looked at him. Thomas' vision was blurred, and he couldn't see out of one eye. They made eye contact.

"I saw you kill him. But I never would've been OK with it if I knew this." She dropped her eyes. "I didn't know he had a sister to leave behind." Then she mumbled a small bit of encouragement to the blonde before leading her down to follow everyone else back to their small civilization.

Thomas looked down at his own hands, distantly making out the fact that they were covered in shining blood. He sat for a while alone before whispering, "Neither did I."


End file.
